Just a little drabble idea that I had a long time ago and am just getting around to putting out there in the world.
An Imperfect Circle
A circle is defined by a locust of points on a plane that has equidistance from a central point. A point is a set of a coordinates, a location on a plane. It has no physical form. In essence, it is an idea. So, a locust of points is a set of ideas. But Plato once wrote that reality is divided into two separate but distinct worlds: our world, the world of particulars, of imperfections, and the world of forms, of perfection. Everything we know in this world is but an imperfect copy of its perfect form in the world of forms. Our souls are the perfect forms of our embodiments in this world, this life. Because we live in the world of particulars and imperfections, there can never be a perfect thing in this world. What is the meaning of life? I always found that to be a fatally flawed question. It seems to suggest that life is a singular thing, as if it should be capitalized or something. Life isn’t singular though. Everyone lives their own life, encompassed in tiny worlds of their own. Sometimes our worlds will collide violently or brush against one another and, for better or worst, we will interact for a short time. There for a moment and then gone, fading once more into our own inclusive worlds
So I think a more apt question would be, what is the meaning of your life? Well, lets take it back, break it down to its roots. Meaning. What does it mean to have meaning? How do you know something has meaning? So many people spend their entire lives trying make their lives have meaning. Perhaps the reason that so many people never find it is because they don’t know what hat meaning is. Perhaps we can pinpoint what the meaning of a thing is, if we first determine what it isn’t. It’s anathema. Something that is lacking in meaning is meaningless, nothing. It is lacking in form, in substance. The definition of meaning is listed as “inner significance”. So, by definition, we are searching for the inner significance of our lives. So what defines a life? Is it merely the act of survival? Food, water, shelter. Or is it the act of striving to better oneself, to make something meaningful of the span of time that you physically encumber this world?